“Alright, here’s your chips and salsa. The enchiladas are coming up.”
“This might seem like a strange request,” I begin, the lie I am about to tell forming quickly, “but would you join me? I hate to eat alone.” With my hours, I often eat alone, there’s no point in hating something that can’t be helped.
She gives me a dazzling smile, looking at the Winnie-The Pooh watch that sits adorably on her wrist. A wrist I want to adorn with jewels. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Um. Yeah, I have a break coming up. Let me grab your food and I’ll join you,” she says, smiling shyly at me. All I can think about is that coy fucking smile looking up at me while she’s on her knees for me, or when my face is buried between her thighs. That little smile makes me want things I never have before. I want her and I don’t even know her.
She sets a plate down in front of me and sits down across from me in the little booth. Her own plate is piled high with steak nachos. She pulls a stainless-steel water bottle out of her apron pocket and sets it on the table. It’s hot pink and her name is etched on the powder coating. I look from her to the table.
“What?” she asks.
“You bring your own cup?”
“It’s my favorite. I brought it from home when I moved here,” she says. I can hear the sadness in her voice.
“How long ago was that?” I ask.
“Oh, about two days ago.” She places her napkin in her lap and picks up her fork to spread sour cream around the messy pile of nachos. “You’re gonna want to eat that while it’s hot.”
“Right,” I say, mimicking her move, placing my napkin in my lap. I groan out loud as the taste of the best enchiladas I’ve ever eaten hits my taste buds.
“Right?” she says, nodding at me.
“Damn, these are delicious. So, tell me about yourself,” I say, really digging into my lunch.
“There’s not much to tell. I start NYU in the fall, but I am really here to be on Broadway,” she says before dropping her fork and burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know why I told you that. I’ve never told anyone that, not even my twin sister.”
“That’s amazing. Tell me more.”
“That’s me.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep. What about you?” she asks before taking another bite.
“I’m in... finance,” I say, hedging the truth.
“Like a bank teller?”
“Something like that. I’m the oldest of three. I have both a brother and a sister. Hell’s Kitchen born and raised.”
“Hell’s Kitchen? I saw that movie. It was so… gritty.”
“That sums up the old neighborhood,” I say chuckling. “It’s much improved though. I’m thirty-four and single. That’s me in a nutshell.” Her green eyes widen and she smiles.
“I’m eighteen and single,” she says coyly.
Eighteen? I knew she was young, but I didn’t think she was that young. What would she want with an old man like?
“I can think of several things, none of which are for polite conversation,” she says, winking at me. Shit. I am so enamored with her that my inner thoughts escape me.
“Sorry about that,” I say, smirking at her.
“Apology accepted. So… Do you have a first name, or do you want me to just call you Macfadyen?”
“Shit. Sorry again. I’m Preston.”
“Preston,” she says in a soft whisper that’s almost a moan.
It’s that sound right there that sets me off. Sitting here in this booth, I realize that although I don’t know anything about her, I know that I am looking at my wife and that feeling makes me soar.
“You’re coming home with me,” I state instead of asking.
“Yes,” she says quickly and simply. “Eat.” Her reminder makes me chuckle and ask myself a seemingly simple question.
The question is how far would I go to make her mine?
The problem is I know it’s a moot question. Going to the end of the universe and back isn’t far enough.Chapter FourToriWhat did I just agree to? Without hesitation, I said yes to a stranger. I am not an idiot. I know what's going to happen, at least what I hope is going to happen. I really hope that this isn’t going to go the horror movie route since I read romance novels exclusively. I know in my heart of hearts what I want to happen, but can I do it? Can I give this man, this man who is not my husband, what I saved? He grins at me and I melt.
Yes, I can. He may not be my husband, but I am going to enjoy him way more than some cold steel.
I finish up my shift while he watches me, ordering more and more cokes, that sit untouched. I feel his eyes on me with every move I make. It feels like he’s undressing me and I love it. I feel powerful. I feel like my pussy is on fire and by the time he helps me into the passenger seat of his tiny car, I feel like I am going to combust. I set my backpack on the floor between my feet and take a deep, calming breath as he jogs around the front of the car and folds himself into it.